NinjaSquirls' Biscuits of Humor
by NinjaSquirls
Summary: In our infinite wisdom, we have decreed that there shall be a weekly drabbles contest. Topics may range from crack to angst and everything else. There will be yaoi, as we are lovers of RoyEd. Please read and rate! Rated T for occasional oranges.
1. Chapter 1

Biscuits of Humor

Purpose:

Our stated purpose is to write a weekly drabble within the following requirements, to keep our hand in while being educated. We shall write drabbles! We shall, in point of fact, have a WEEKLY DRABBLE DRAWING contest! The 'we' is NinjaSquirls, hanjuuluver, Happy-Moogle-Mustang and Jane Austen Girl. We depend upon you, dear readers, to rate, in short, our stories. Please do visit the pages of the others and rate them, oh please! It will make us soooo happy… we'll bake you all virtual cookies and give you a mouthwatering description of them. Frequently. Now, onto the…

Rules and Regulations:

Thou shalt rate the drabble on a scale of 1-10, awarding points for whatever thou thinkst best.

There shall be 1000 words or less than 1000 words, no more.

There shall be nothing beyond oranges, which are barest hints of intimate interaction. Kumquats, or kisses, shall be frequent.

The title drawn is the theme.

Five words shall be drawn from the enormous drabble pot to provide the weekly challenge of inclusion

If there is a crossover included, it shall be present in the disclaimerness at the heading. Thou art warned of their possible presence, therefore, rate it on quality, not presence or absence.

The drabble shall be of any genre.

No main character shall die, for that is depressing, even if it does lead to character development. In short, NO DEATH FICS!

There shalt not be the pairings of Royai or EdWin, although any other, including a RoyStrong pairing, is acceptable shudders at mental images and attempts to refrain from rescuing Roy

Finally: The drabble shall be posted at 8:00 on the sixth day following the drawing, should this be possible for the parties involved.

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**A/N: I did not write this! Jane Austen Girl wrote this, so I am absolved of responsibility. As is described above, we have decided to start a weekly drabble writing contest. This first chapter is just to explain the rules to everyone so that they are nice and clear, and hopefully to convince people to participate by reviewing and rating our drabbles. The first drawing is on Monday, so the first frabbles should be up next Sunday!**


	2. Habitual Acquiescence

**A/N:** Here we have it, my first entry in our weekly drabble contest! Hooray for us, we actually accomplished something! Although Jane Austen Girl pointed out that these are more oneshots than drabbles, since our word limit is 1000 words. But I don't care. I'm too busy listening to my new FMA Complete Best CD (I started humming Ready Steady Go in calculus), which I love. Anyway, please enjoy the first drabble entry of NinjaSquirls, which I am categorizing as smufl (smutty fluff, and if you can think of a better name, please volunteer) of the orange level (a natural extension of the lemon lime system. Grapefruit is totally non-explicit sex, orange is implied sex, and kumquat is kissing and making out. Spread the word!).

**PS: Please read the AN at the bottom! It contains vital information! PLEASE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!**

**Theme**: Habitual Acquiescence

**Words That Must be Included**: short, midget, chibi, squishy, the zipper is evil

**Length**: 995 words (just made it!)

**Summary:** For Roy and Ed, arguing is a habit; backing down is not.

**Disclaimer**: Trust me; if I owned FMA, you would know it by now. I mean, I tell you guys everything! How could I keep that to myself?

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**Habitual Acquiescence**

"The zipper is evil."

"What are you talking about?" Ed asked, glaring up at Roy over his book. At the moment, the Colonel sat at his desk, idly signing papers; Ed was draped over the arm of the sofa, attempting to read an alchemy text upside-down, with moderate success.

The first time Ed had a slow day and decided to keep Roy company in his office, Riza had vehemently protested, complaining that with Ed to distract him Roy would _never_ get any paperwork done. It had taken almost a week for them to prove to her that while the two alchemists did occasionally get preoccupied, overall Roy was actually more efficient when provided with a little incentive. By now, it had become habit for Ed to bring whatever research he was doing from the library to Roy's office every morning to read, which is what he was doing when Roy elected to comment on his zipper.

"I'm talking about the zipper on your jacket. It's _evil_."

"And what exactly is wrong with my zipper?" Ed demanded defensively.

"Everything," Roy complained. "It's excessively large, it's ugly, it's tacky, and it's just awful. Why couldn't you get a normal looking jacket with a clasp like everyone else?"

"Maybe I like my evil zipper!" Ed retorted. "Maybe I think it makes me unique! And while we're on the subject of weird clothing, what's with that weird rope on your uniform? I mean, what the hell is that thing supposed to be for? That little rope really annoys me, you know!"

With a small internal smirk, Roy set down his pen; clearly this was an argument that would not end quickly.

"At least I look good in my uniform," Roy remarked dryly. "Every time you wear yours, people ask you why you're dressed in your father's clothes."

Ed's book dropped with a loud clash as the boy shot up, face already beginning to flush with anger. "Are you implying that I'm short?" he hissed dangerously.

Roy arched an eyebrow. "Do you mean, am I saying that you are small enough to be mistaken as a midget escaped from the freak show at the circus? Because you know I would _never_ say a thing like that, Ed."

"WHO ARE YOU CALLING A SUPER-SHORT MINI CHIBI-LOOKALIKE WHO COULD DROWN IN A DROP OF RAIN, YOU CONCEITED JERK!"

Ed's attempted assault on his commanding officer was halted only by the presence of the table; by the time he disentangled his legs and stood up again, his self-control had reasserted itself to the point that he could be confined to shouting at Roy, who had watched the entire table spectacle without saying a word. Ed felt he was saying more than enough, however, with his expression, which could be translated best as "Every time I think you can't be more of idiot, you prove how very wrong I am."

"You should work on controlling your temper, Ed. It's embarrassing for the rest of us to have to keep apologizing every time you go off on someone. It's very childish."

The look Ed shot him could have melted a steel door. "At least I can show emotions like a normal person, instead of trying to impress everyone with how cold and stoic I am. 'Oh, look at me, I'm Roy Mustang, I act like I don't give a damn to hide my tragic, angst-filled past.' Ed imitated badly.

Roy colored slightly at that, but shot back quickly; "At least my "tragic angsty hero" aura makes me more attractive to women. What would a girl say if you told her you had two of your limbs ripped from your body and your brother was a tin can?"

Ed's lips spread into a distinctly Roy-like smirk. "At least I've got my age going for me when I try to pick up girls. I mean, who wouldn't prefer my young, beautiful body over your old, squishy, geezer body?"

Most people wouldn't believe that Roy Mustang could flush scarlet when prodded into rage by a certain blond. Most people would be completely wrong. The moment Roy opened his mouth could be thought of as the moment the argument began to go downhill.

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Half an hour later, and the two men were slumped opposite each other, gasping for breath, exhausted from the force of their argument. It had been impressive, even for them. Things had been thrown, accusations had been made, and old wounds had been viciously dragged in – Ed had brought up Roy's mistakes in Ishbal; Roy had thrown Ed's mother back in his face. However, the argument appeared to be drawing to a close; Roy had just delivered a particularly cutting comment about Nina, and Ed found that he could not think of any way to respond. Not a single damn insult sprang to mind that he hadn't already used at some point previously. 

Now, most people, faced with this situation, would conclude that it was time to concede the fight. But acquiescence had never been a habit of Ed's; in his mind, surrendering the fight before all possible avenues of victory had been exhausted would be a sign of truly intolerable failure. Thus, he drew the one trump card he still held in his hand.

"At least," he said to Roy slowly and evilly, "I'm not the one who's going to be sleeping on the couch tonight."

From the look on Roy's face, he had definitely won.

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Seconds after Ed walked out of the office, there was a discreet flurry of activity that ended with everyone clustered around Hawkeye's desk, gazes focused on the small slate that lay there. 

"I'd say Ed won that one, so that's another point for him. What's that bring the total to?"

Havoc made a quick tally. "52 points for Ed, 57 for Roy. The chief's catching up."

Hawkeye sighed. "I do wish they'd manage to make it _one_ day without getting into a fight, though. They're going to _kill_ each other someday."

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**A/N**: Okay, now that you've read it, I want you to do two things. First: click the little review button and rate this story. It doesn't matter if you actually say anything in your review (although comments are certainly appreciated); just rate it on a scale of 1 to 10. Second: go to hanjuuluver, Jane Austen Girl, and Happy-Moogle-Mustang (they are in my favorite authors) and read/rate their entries for this week's drabble (we all used the same title, so no problem there). Do it!!!!!! Thanks! 


	3. Perplexed Music

**A/N:** Alright! We have an entry number 2 of the Drabbles of Doom, late though it may be (and in my defense, JAG was the only one to finish on time, and I'm second to post, go me)! This project might actually be a success, especially as we actually managed to get some feedback for the first drabble. Not as much as we might have hoped, but way way way more than we expected. You people are wonderful and lovely! (I'm full of caffeine and crackers right now, just so you know). The story I present to you this week is categorized as very fluffy crack. I don't know what I was doing. Rated Kumquat on the Smut Scale (kissing only), but probably T overall for general drunkenness. Not my favorite ever, but it turned out alright.

**PS: Please read the AN at the bottom! It contains vital information! PLEASE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!**

**Theme**: Perplexed Music

**Words That Must Be Included (Well, phrases, really):** "Help, help, I'm being oppressed! (Monty Python is godly), "Clicky-pen", "I swear to drunk I'm not God!", "To be or not to be, that is the question; whether 'tis nobler to take arms against a sea of troubles" (a very bad misquote of Hamlet, I know), "Sometimes it just helps to be upside-down."(Thank you Mr Linzer, scary Yoga teacher extraordinare!)

**Length**: 996 words (and you have no idea how much work it took to trim it down that much!)

**Summary**: In which Hughes has a Plan, and there are many complications. Special Note: Just so no one's confused, we're going to assume that episode 25 never happened, because I love Hughes too much to kill him, and that this takes place after episode 51, so Al has his body back, but that things went differently, so Ed is not in Alter-Germany (so non-movie compatible) but still in Amestris.

**Disclaimer**: FMA? I don't need FMA. Who needs FMA...Ahhh, noo, I can't even pretend! I want it! I need it! It's like crack to me! Why, Arakawa, why?

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**Perplexed Music**

The Plan formed three days before, when Hughes dropped by Roy's office to pester him about needing a wife. Somewhere in this conversation, he asked what kind of woman Roy liked, anyway. The way he said "blondes" left it clear to Hughes that he didn't like blondes, but a blonde, and he had a confident guess as to whom. He immediately formed a Plan: he would take everyone to the bar, get Roy drunk, maneuver him and Riza together, and allow romance to take its course. It wasn't a complicated scheme, but he felt it perfect in its simplicity.

It was as he stood in the entrance to the crowded bar, gazing around to locate Roy, that he felt the first prickle of doubt. This was a moment after he heard a terrified voice cry "help," saw a flash of sandy hair, and felt a pair of arms clamp onto his leg.

At first glance, a frightened, trembling Alphonse was clinging to him like he was a human shield. Hughes looked up to see what had scared him so badly, and saw…Winry. Who was, indeed, looking frightening, between the expression on her face and the wrench she was brandishing. But why…?

At second glance, the boy's eyes were slightly unfocused and his face was flushed. Well, that explained a lot. Note to self: Alphonse cannot hold his alcohol.

"Hello, Winry!" Hughes said brightly, as if she didn't look like she was about to kill someone. Hopefully not him.

She glared at him. "Good evening, Colonel," she said. "Could you please move? I need Al."

"Don't let her kill me!" the boy wailed into Hughes' leg.

"You won't hurt him, will you?"

'I'm going to take him home. And trust me; anything I do to him will be nothing compared to what I do to whoever gave him alcohol!" She shouted the last part, words clearly aimed at the other occupants of the bar.

Hughes grinned as she reached down, grabbed Al by the ear, and hauled him bodily out of the bar, ignoring his cries of "Help! Help! I'm being oppressed!"

Of course, no sooner had Hughes resumed his search than he felt a hand seize his arm, dragging him to a table by the window.

"Would you please tell him," Havoc, his apparent abductor, pointed an accusatory finger at Fuery, "that's he's drunk!"

Fuery giggled and retorted "I swear to drunk I'm not god!" Which, Hughes thought, was hardly convincing.

"Oh yeah?" answered Havoc, "If you're not drunk, then why did you kiss me? It's either the alcohol or the evil clicky-pens have taken over your brain!" Hughes had a strong suspicion that Fuery wasn't the only one who'd been drinking.

"I didn't kiss you because I'm drunk," Fuery said, smirking. 'I kissed you because _you're_ drunk." To emphasize his point, he reached across the table, grabbed Havoc's shirt, and pulled him into a deep, if drunkenly sloppy, kiss. Hughes observed that, although Havoc's eyes widened and he blushed, he didn't try to pull away. When Fuery finally released him, he paused only long enough to gasp, "If that's true, I'm never going to be sober again," before dragging the black-haired man into another kiss.

Hughes just walked away without a word.

As he walked now, Hughes watched for any more distractions from his Plan. Falman and Schiezka were sitting together, deep in conversation; he allowed his inner matchmaker to make a note of that. Breda and Denny were engaged in some loud, complicated drinking contest. Maria Ross was standing by herself.

He almost walked into Riza, who was draped across a table with her head hanging over the edge. She looked up at him and smiled.

"To be or not to be, that is the question; whether 'tis nobler to take arms against a sea of troubles…" her voice trailed off.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Hughes asked.

"I don't know," she said, words barely slurred. "'Take arms'…it'd be a much easier problem if I could just shoot it. I'm good at that. I'm not very good at doing this emotional thing."

"What are we talking about?" He asked, feeling in over his head.

"I don't know," she answered. 'I think I might be in love. I mean, who wouldn't be…that black hair, those dark eyes…beautiful. But I don't think I could actually say it. They don't feel the same, so…"

Hughes' inner voice cheered. He knew the Plan was brilliant, and now everything was falling into place!  
"I think," he said, "that you might be surprised. I suspect your feelings aren't as one-sided as you'd believe. It can't hurt to try."

"You make a good point," she said. "Or maybe it's just the angle. Sometimes it just helps to be upside-down."

He watched as she stood, swayed, and walked unsteadily across the room to…_Lt. Ross_? That was…it couldn't be…no, she was definitely talking to Lt. Ross, who definitely looked interested.

Well. He'd just convinced the woman he was trying to hook his best friend up with to hook up with someone else. Which still left the question – where was Roy?

The question was shortly answered, however, as he heard Roy's voice off to his left. At least…it sounded like Roy, except he was _laughing_. Real laughter, the kind Hughes hadn't heard in _years_. When he looked over, he could only see Roy; the angle effectively obscured the sight of his companion. Then Roy moved, leaning in closer to say something, and Hughes glimpsed the other person – black shirt, red cloak, blond braid, and all.

"Edward?" Hughes said, loud enough to draw stares. Obviously the world had gone completely insane. Even the music he heard was perplexing, not what it was supposed to be.

His dismay faded, however, as he watched the two of them…_kissing_. He smiled to himself. Not everything had gone according to plan, but he still felt the Plan was a success.

**

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A/N: I'm just going to use the same one from last week; it's easier that way. So: Okay, now that you've read it, I want you to do two things. First: click the little review button and rate this story. It doesn't matter if you actually say anything in your review (although comments are certainly appreciated); just rate it on a scale of 1 to 10. Second: go to hanjuuluver, Jane Austen Girl, and Happy-Moogle-Mustang (they are in my favorite authors) and read/rate their entries for this week's drabble (we all used the same title, so no problem there). Do it!!!!!! Thanks! **


	4. Sophia In the Atmosphere

**A/N:** Yosh! Entry number three of the Drabbles of Evil and Doom! The words we drew this week lent themselves very well to a crack fic, but had I done that, it would have been more or less identical to last week's entry. Then, while sitting in English Lit (so many good things happen in English Lit!) this idea just popped into my head. And it's so angsty!!! But I like it a lot, so there. I hope you like the angst. And thank you thank you thank you to all the people who have been reviewing - you keep the contest alive! Go you!

**PS: Please read the AN at the bottom! It contains vital information! PLEASE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!**

**Theme: **Sophia in the Atmosphere

**Words that Must Be Used**: "Numa Numa," "Did you know hand sanitizer is flammable?" "Who are you calling drunk? I ain't drunk! You wouldn't dare call me drunk if I was sober!" "Substitute," "It is a truth universally acknowledged that a single man in possession of a large fortune must be in want of a wife."

**Length:** 999 words, after much paring

**Summary:** Three years is a long time. A lot of things can change.

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**Sophia in the Atmosphere**

The blond-haired young man paused in front of the door. It had been three years – three goddamn years, he thought bitterly – and it looked as though nothing had changed. The worn carpet, the scratches in the wood, the plate naming the office's occupant – all were exactly as he remembered. It was reassuring to see he was coming back to the place he'd left; it was sad to think his absence had changed it so little. He pushed the door open slowly with one hand.

"Oh God," said the man at the desk. A cigarette fell forgotten from his lips, smoldering and dying on the wooden desktop. "Oh God."

The young man smiled wearily. "Don't you have anything better to say, Havoc?"

The man gulped. "They said you were dead. Al was out of his mind for weeks …after they found him down there…he couldn't tell us what happened, and they never found anything...they just gave up. They said you died."

"But here I am. They should've known it's not that easy to kill me."

"But if you weren't dead, where have you _been_? Why didn't you come back? I mean, three years, boss. Three _years_."

"I've been far away…you have no idea how far. And I did come back. That's why I'm standing here."

He looked around the empty office. "Where is everybody? Shouldn't Hawkeye, and Fuery, and everyone be here?"

Havoc shrugged helplessly. "It's lunchtime. They should be back in soon. I wouldn't be here either, but someone's got to look after him." He jerked a thumb over his shoulder at the door behind him.

The young man's voice shook. "He's really…he's really here?" Then a puzzled expression clouded his features. "Wait…what do mean, look after him?"

Havoc stared dully at his hands, refusing to meet the young man's eyes. "Three years is a long time, boss. A lot of things have changed."

"What are you talking about?" the young man demanded. He stamped across the room. "I want to see that bastard right now!"

"Ed, I don't know if that's a good idea," Havoc pleaded. "I don't think you want to see him like this."

He tried to grab Ed by the arm, but the young man shrugged him off easily. "Please, Ed, don't…"

The first thing he saw resembled a crumpled heap of laundry, until it lifted its head and resolved into a black-haired man in a stained military uniform, hand wrapped around a nearly-empty whiskey bottle. If Ed had to guess, the bottle had been full that morning.

This wasn't the Roy Ed remembered. His hair was lank and greasy; the uniform looked as though he'd slept in it for a week, which was probably true; the eyes were bleary and bloodshot. This man wasn't Roy. This man was a mess.

"Oh, God," whispered Ed. "You're drunk, bastard."

"Who are you calling drunk? I ain't drunk! You wouldn't dare call me drunk if I were sober!" Roy retorted, without seeming aware of them. Ed turned to Havoc, who was glaring at the ground.

"I tried to warn you," said Havoc. "Things have changed. I'm sorry."

"Does this happen often?" asked Ed.

"More often than not," Havoc replied. "It's not usually this bad, but…it's a long time since I've seen him sober."

Ed flushed. "Three years."

"Yeah."

Ed stared at Roy, a hard look on his face. "I need…could you…I _have_ to talk to him, Havoc."

Havoc nodded. "I'll go then. Good luck." He paused in the doorway. "Ed…I'm glad you're back."

"Yeah," he answered hollowly.

Ed watched silently as Roy threw his head back and started singing. "Sophia's in the atmosphere, and the sky's all falling down; I'll say Numa Numa, and you'll just let me drown…"

When he paused, Ed said lightly, "Aren't you going to say hello?"

Roy's head jerked toward Ed, and he knew the man hadn't seen him before. "Damnit," he slurred, "why do you keep doing this?"

"Doing what, Roy?"

"I'm trying to forget you, damnit, so why do I keep seeing you? Why can't you just let me let you go?" He slammed a fist against his desk.

Ed's eyes filled with tears as he answered softly, "Roy, it's really me. I'm really back."

Roy sneered. "Ed has been dead for three years. He's not coming back. Soon enough you'll vanish, like always, and all I'll have is the whiskey again. It's a piss-poor substitute for him, but it's better than nothing, I suppose."

Golden eyes met reddened, alcohol-glazed eyes and refused to look away. "Roy, how could you _do_ this to yourself?"

Roy picked up a small bottle from his desk and held it up for Ed's inspection. "Did you know that hand sanitizer is flammable? Most things are, actually. And I'm the Flame Alchemist…it'd be so easy. A little bit of fuel, one spark, and it's all over. No more pain. But I'm too much of a damn _coward_."

"But why, bastard? Tell me why!" Ed shouted.

"I miss him too much, damnit! I need him too much! Do you know how long a lifetime is when you know he's _never_ coming back? How am I supposed to live without him?!"

And somehow Ed was there, next to him, and his arms wrapped around him, holding him tightly, desperately, and the two of them sank to the floor. Ed saw the tears on Roy's face, felt the dampness streaking his own, felt both of them shaking, and all he could do was repeat it over and over again – "It's me, Roy, it's me and I'm here and I'm never leaving again, never."

It is a truth universally acknowledged that a single man in possession of a large fortune must be in want of a wife. It was a strange quote to remember at a time like this, Ed thought giddily, because Roy wasn't rich and he definitely didn't need a wife. But he was broken, and he needed something, and Ed prayed that he had it, now that he was back.

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**A/N:** **I'm just going to use the same one from last week; it's easier that way. So: Okay, now that you've read it, I want you to do two things. First: click the little review button and rate this story. It doesn't matter if you actually say anything in your review (although comments are certainly appreciated); just rate it on a scale of 1 to 10. Second: go to hanjuuluver, Jane Austen Girl, and Happy-Moogle-Mustang (they are in my favorite authors) and read/rate their entries for this week's drabble (we all used the same title, so no problem there). Do it!!!!!! Thanks! **


	5. Captain of PleasureGrounds

**A/N**: Please don't kill me. It's incredibly late. JAG has had her's up for weeks. I am pathetic. But it has been a brutal series of weeks involving vast amounts of school work, so I am not to blame. Really. If anyone must be killed, it is my teachers, especially my Physics and Econ teahcers. But I finally did finish, and to make up for being late, it's fluffy. Really, really, really fluffy. I feel like my brain got attacked by giant bunnies. But how could I resist? Havoc and Fuery are just an unbearably adoarable couple, and I am a hopeless romantic. Hopefully I didn't swing too far out of character for either of them; I tried, but I don't know how successful I was.

**PS: Please read the AN at the bottom! It contains vital information! PLEASE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!**

**Theme**: Captain of Pleasure-Grounds

**Words That Must be Included**: "Security! Security!", "cold", "ring", "shifty", "taco dog"

**Length**: 998 words (just made it!, as always)

**Summary:** In which Havoc is overexcited, and Fuery doesn't know why

**Disclaimer**: I don't own FMA. I just rent the characters on a weekly basis.

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**Captain of Pleasure-Grounds**

"Security! Security!"

The shout sent a cold shiver down the back of Master Sergeant Fuery. He had just rounded the corner of the hall leading to the Mess Hall when a horrified looking private burst through the doors, running down the hallway and looking around desperately for help. Fuery stretched out a hand as the young man passed and caught him by the collar.

"What's going on?" He asked the private politely.

"There's a lieutenant in there that's gone totally crazy, Sergeant! He's up on the table, ranting about Taco Dogs and photo booths and celery! I'm afraid he's going to hurt somebody!"

Normally, Fuery's military duties regarding the repair of broken objects did not extend to suddenly deranged military personnel. However, this was a special circumstance; almost as soon as the young man started speaking, he had had the sinking feeling that he knew who the lieutenant in question was. And while Sergeant Fuery didn't have any business with a lieutenant who'd lost his mind, Kain Fuery certainly did – if his suspicion that the man was his boyfriend was correct.

Taking a deep breath to steel himself for the horrors that might await him, Fuery pushed the door open and stuck his head into the room.

He had been prepared for a number of things to happen, but, oddly enough, not for what actually did; he was utterly surprised when he felt a hand latch onto his, yanking him hard into the room. He spun dizzily in a circle, and before he was able to reclaim his balance, the hand was under his elbow, pulling him up onto the table. He staggered, and almost fell, but the hand steadied him by dragging him into a crushing embrace.

Blushing furiously, Fuery shoved himself away from his captor, only to find himself staring at brilliantly blue, sparkling eyes and a broad grin. The taller blond laughed delightedly before pulled Fuery back into a warm kiss.

"Have you lost your mind, Jean?" He demanded.

"Probably," the blond man said cheerfully, "But it doesn't matter, you know – it doesn't matter if everyone knows, it doesn't matter if I tell you I love you right here, because it's all perfect, it's all wonderful!"

Fuery stared at him as if he'd suddenly sprouted wings and tried to fly around the room. "What on earth are you talking about?" He asked.

"Everything!" He shouted, throwing his hands up. "This world, this city, this military base, this cafeteria, they're all beautiful and perfect and you're the most beautiful and perfect of all, and I don't care if everyone knows it, because I'm going to get a house, a big house with a kitchen full of windows and a garden in the back with every kind of flower and room for as many animals as you bring home and you'll never have to eat cold mess hall toast and old milk for breakfast ever again or listen to the guy next to you snore, and it's going to be amazing, I know it!"

Fuery couldn't believe he'd gotten all that out in a single breath; he would have keeled over. Just listening to it left him reeling, in fact.

"That private was right, Jean, you really have gone crazy."

Havoc gave him a rather shifty look. "Oh, yeah, well, some of that was just me being ridiculous, I was hoping someone would get scared enough to come and find you, because I knew I'd really lose my mind if I had to wait any longer to tell you." He kissed him again, dramatically, and Fuery heard a wolf whistle somewhere in the crowd. "Because I'm happier than I've ever been before, Kain, I'm so happy and I can't stop thinking about how amazing it is and how wonderful it's going to be and how lucky I am and how much I love you –"

If Fuery had been a less gentle and kind person, he might have considered punching Havoc at that point for going on so long without explaining what he was going on about; as it was, he settled for glaring at him, crossing his arms, and saying "If you don't tell me what you're talking about, Jean, you're going to regret it."

The broad, beaming grin split Havoc's face once again. "Captain!" He announced. Fuery blinked. "Jean, I don't underst –"

"They promoted me, Kain! Three years of working for Mustang as a Lieutenant and they finally promoted me! I'm a Captain, it's all official, I have the paperwork and the extra bar for my uniform in my pocket, and I'm still working with Mustang but I get a raise and allowance for a house, and I promised, you remember I promised, when I got promoted, and it's finally happened!"

It finally made sense. It all came together, and Fuery could feel his heart pounding in his chest, and his palms were suddenly slick with sweat, but his mouth was dry, and he had to swallow several times before he managed to whisper, "You mean – "

Havoc nodded at him, still grinning, and started fumbling through his pockets. When he finally pulled his hand out, it was clenched tightly around some small object. He held his hand out to Fuery, and slowly uncurled his fingers.

Fuery stared in bemusement at the simple gold ring resting on Havoc's palm, then looked up at the blond man. Havoc blushed slightly.

"I promised," he said softly. "You remember. I promised, and I finally got promoted. I love you, Kain. God, I can't believe how much I love you, and I can't believe how lucky I am that you love me, and I never want to lose that, not ever. Please, will you marry me?"

Fuery slowly reached out to cover Havoc's hand with his own.

"I think," he said, "that you are crazy." He drew his hand back. "And I must be crazy, too." Carefully and deliberately, he slid the ring over his finger. "Because I love you, too."

* * *

**A/N**: Okay, now that you've read it, I want you to do two things. First: click the little review button and rate this story. It doesn't matter if you actually say anything in your review (although comments are certainly appreciated); just rate it on a scale of 1 to 10. Second: go to hanjuuluver, Jane Austen Girl, and Happy-Moogle-Mustang (they are in my favorite authors) and read/rate their entries for this week's drabble (we all used the same title, so no problem there). Do it!!!!!! Thanks!


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